


A Quest in Romance

by Timeskipped



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: But mostly fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Takatoo Tasuku/Tsukioka Tsumugi, Past Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26995684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timeskipped/pseuds/Timeskipped
Summary: Homare wants to carry Hisoka bridal style.(As long as Hisoka is willing to reach for him, Homare will stay and wait to be reached for.)
Relationships: Arisugawa Homare/Mikage Hisoka
Comments: 17
Kudos: 96





	A Quest in Romance

Homare doesn’t know how to carry Hisoka bridal style, but he _wants_ to. He just finds it difficult, the way their limbs flail when he tries, and how Hisoka tips in his arms until he’s more upright than sideways, and Homare is simply pulling him along with all his strength, over his shoulder. His partner still doesn’t wake up, of course, but Homare still feels bad about it.

Strange impulses are a thing of poetic inspiration, and Homare is aware of the feelings that romance makes well up inside him. Though Homare has been doing this to Hisoka since before they got together, it's still _important._

“I’d appreciate it if you could help,” Homare says cheerfully, and Tasuku gives him a strange disgruntled look, eyebrows pressed together.

“Why would I know how to carry Mikage like that? You can figure it out yourself.”

But Tasuku is the strongest physically in Winter Troupe, obviously, and he doesn’t seem to understand Homare’s crisis. “Yes, well, you’ve helped him to our room before. In addition, for me, I believe that carrying Hisoka in a way named after marriage is more romantic than simply carrying him in some other way,” Homare says, shaking his head. “Ah, that reminds me; I was thinking of making a poem based on the _naming_ of things, and _bridal style_ versus _princess carry_ versus—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Tasuku sighs. “I’ve only princess carried Mikage because he was sleeping somewhere dangerous. And the only other person I’ve carried like that is—Uh. Nevermind.”

“It’s Tsumugi, right?” Banri butts into their conversation with a shit-eating grin.

And, yes, that’s true. Homare didn’t feel it necessary to mention it, though Banri seems amused by the way Tasuku glares at him. They _really_ should’ve picked a better place for their conversation, but the lounge was a good place to see everyone else.

Homare likes being around other people. They’re beautiful and poetic in so many ways that it warms his heart immensely to simply be near them. Or, maybe, it’s sentimentality and care for the Winter Troupe, those whom he loves with his entire heart. And there is nobody in the entire Mankai Company who Homare cares for more than Hisoka himself.

Banri laughs. “You two are childhood friends, it’s not that weird, right? But Homare, you really wanna carry your sleeping boyfriend, when he won’t even be awake to appreciate it?”

“Yes,” Homare says with a smile. “It makes me happy simply to care for him, you see. And if it means trying harder at carrying him in order to bring him back to our room, I’ll happily do it.”

Banri’s eyebrows raise. “Damn,” he says. “That’s some dedication. Good luck, I guess, though I don’t think I’d want to be in your position.” He frowns a little. It makes Homare think that he can’t possibly imagine someone _not wanting_ to carry someone they care about, though that’s probably just his own artistic impulses.

“Anyway,” Tasuku says, frowning, “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s easier to just carry him over your shoulder, unless he lets you pick him up like that. Maybe you should get stronger, though, if you want it to be easier.” There’s a glint in Tasuku’s eye at the idea of forcing Homare to exercise.

The idea isn’t bad, necessarily. They need stamina to act, of course, and if Homare must, then he’ll do it, but he’s certain that there’s an easier way, hiding somewhere in Tasuku’s advice.

And, like a stroke of poetic inspiration, it comes to Homare. The answer he’s been waiting for, the solution to his woes! The reason he needs to carry Hisoka bridal style is because he wants Hisoka to be comfortable and safe, so obviously he needs Hisoka to cooperate and assist his endeavor. Then, Homare will lift him in his arms, and, gently, Hisoka will understand. It’s simply another pillar of who Homare is in Mankai; someone who cares for Hisoka, just as he recites poetry.

...Well, perhaps Hisoka outwardly speaking aloud that it’s better and easier is another flight of fantasy, but surely not one too large to be _impossible._ Yes, this is what Homare has to do; to find Hisoka and ask for his help in Homare’s attempts to care for him.

“I understand!” Homare exclaims, and watches Banri’s eyebrows raise.

“You do?” Tasuku asks as Homare stands, beaming. Tasuku watches him with furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. Then, his eyes widen, and he inhales. “You’re going to actually work to become stronger, is that it?”

Banri starts laughing. Tasuku shoots him a glare, while Homare simply tilts his head.

“I think he has another idea, but the thought of it is funny. Thanks for the laugh, though, man,” Banri slaps Tasuku’s shoulder, and Tasuku frowns harder, the excitement on his face draining away. Banri steps back, waving as he goes back to… whatever he was doing.

Homare doesn’t busy himself with that, too caught up in the rush of knowing what he has to do next. He grins at Tasuku. “Banri is correct; I’m simply going to ask Hisoka for help with this endeavor! I’m sure he’ll listen to me! Farewell Tasuku, and thank you for the advice!”

“... _Will_ he listen?” Tasuku says as Homare sweeps out of the room.

Searching for Hisoka place one; their room. Hisoka doesn’t sleep there all the time, but it’s a fairly easy guess, and a good room to get out of the way, since it’s _their_ space. If he’s _not_ there, Homare will have to find where he fell asleep elsewhere in the dorms, assuming he hasn’t gotten roped into anything out of the building. It’s quite a wide area, but Homare is sure that he’ll find him.

Homare hums cheerfully as he walks there, imagining seeing a Hisoka-shaped lump in his bed, as much as it may or might be what he finds there.

Homare peers into his room. On his own desk, there’s papers scattered around, including the love poem that he half-hopes Hisoka hasn’t found and read; not that Hisoka makes a habit of reading poetry, but Homare thinks he wants to recite it to him, personally, for the first time Hisoka hears it. Hisoka is nowhere to be found, though, not even in either of their beds.

Homare wracks his brains for where Hisoka could’ve gone and fallen asleep this time. Perhaps he’s with another Mankai member? Or in the courtyard? Maybe Misumi left him alone with the stray cats again.

He shakes his head. All he needs to do is go looking.

He peers into various rooms in the dorms, greeting each person he comes across with a wave. The courtyard is empty as well, but clear moonlight shines down, the sun having dipped below the horizon, leaving only a faint red on the horizon. The rooftop, too, is free of everyone but Misumi, who asks Homare if he wants to look at the Summer Triangle with him, an offer which Homare rejects.

“Have you seen Hisoka?” he asks as he shakes his head, looking up at Misumi seriously.

“He left a while ago, but he was sleeping up here while we waited for the stars to come out!” Misumi says with characteristic cheer. The image of the two of them, one asleep and the other bursting with energy, paints itself inside Homare’s mind; a future poem, perhaps.

Homare nods. “Hmm, well… I wasn’t looking for him to watch the stars with him, although that would be nice… I wonder where he has gone. Maybe to someone’s room?”

Misumi shrugs. Homare is content with that answer, and descends from the roof carefully and gracefully.

Knocking on Azuma’s door gets no answers to his questions since Azuma, even as a common sleeping partner of Hisoka’s, is alone tonight, and he doesn’t know which other dorms to check. Thus, Homare eventually goes back inside and looks around a bit more. Still, he finds himself at a bit of a loss, since the dorms are so large. Naturally, it’s to house all the residents, but Homare can’t help but be frustrated that it’s interfering with his very important quest.

When he steps into the entrance of the dorms, he almost doesn’t expect to find anyone. But sitting there, one sleeve pulled up to his elbow, is Hisoka. Their eyes meet, and Homare smiles immediately, almost ready to throw open his arms to him, but something stops him.

Maybe it’s the way Hisoka is curled up on the couch, pressed against one of the armrests with a tenseness that Homare doesn’t often see. Maybe it’s the way his eye looks, wide, an endless green that Homare can’t understand.

There’s a light, crooked scar exposed on the arm where Hisoka’s sleeve is rolled up.

Homare stops walking, halfway to Hisoka.

It’s not like he’s never seen the scars. They’ve been in communal baths together, even before their relationship started, and Hisoka doesn’t seem to mind when Homare’s fingers brush the lighter areas of his skin where there were once, presumably, wounds.

Homare has never asked.

He doesn’t know if it’s better that way or not. He wonders if Hisoka prefers this silence over something else, over Homare trying to talk to him about it and utterly failing. His tongue freezes in his mouth when he thinks of it, because he can’t comprehend what Hisoka wants. He’s tried putting himself in his shoes, but, of course, he has nothing to compare this to.

Homare wants to kiss Hisoka until Hisoka forgets the scars. They’re something that’s a part of him, and Homare loves them as much as he loves Hisoka’s whole self, but—he just doesn’t know. That scares him.

It scares him more when Hisoka looks up at him with a wide green eye and says, “I remembered something.”

Homare clears his throat, an awkward pause lingering lightly in the air, as Homare contests against the fear of saying something wrong. Homare knows that Hisoka won’t care either way, so he opens his mouth properly. “Did you?” He steps closer, sitting beside Hisoka and letting his eyes rest on the white line. Faintly, Homare notes that it looks as though it was stitched up.

Hisoka’s head flops down against his shoulder, and presses himself against his side. It washes away any worry that stuck to Homare.

And this should’ve been what Homare expected; it was Hisoka himself who taught Homare that he was worthwhile despite his inability to understand. Throughout the time they’ve been together, from the love that’s grown between them, Homare has realized that he loves Hisoka not despite that, but _because_ of that, because Hisoka doesn’t understand everything either, and has still chosen to love Homare back.

Hisoka’s soft breath hits Homare’s neck. “I did,” he says. His fingers rub over the scar. “I stitched it myself… because no one else was there to do it for me.”

Loneliness, Homare thinks, is a common theme in poetry and literature. If he was asked, he could recite his thoughts about it, even explain his own poetry about the theme, but that’s not what’s happening now. What Hisoka’s saying may not even be an admission of loneliness.

“I see…” Homare closes his eyes. “But you’re not alone now.”

“I’m not,” Hisoka agrees, barely a whisper. He presses his face further into Homare’s shoulder, which Homare finds _adorable._ “Arisu… I bet you’re awful at treating wounds.”

Homare’s eyes snap open. “I could always learn!” But of course Hisoka is right; Homare has never had a reason to until coming to Mankai. Surrounded by people from all walks of life including Hisoka’s own has given him many opportunities, artistic and otherwise, and why should _wound-dressing_ be any different? “Honestly, you’re so troublesome if you want me to be good at such a thing immediately.”

“I never said I wanted you to be good at it…”

“Well you should be a bit more careful with your words then, my dear,” Homare smiles. He wraps his arm around Hisoka’s waist. “Although a little first aid training wouldn’t be a bad thing to have.”

“No,” Hisoka says, and he meets Homare’s eye with a frown. “I don’t want you to have to do that. I don’t want you to see me hurt.”

The mere idea of it hurts. The thought of Hisoka in pain stings Homare’s heart like a persistent thorn, whether that pain be past or future. Homare’s smile drops. “I don’t want that either,” he says. “But regardless… if anything bad happens…”

“It won’t,” Hisoka says firmly. “I won’t let it.”

And what can Homare say to that? If his partner is so set on his safety, as he has been for as long as Hisoka has remembered his past, what can Homare do to stop him? He can only hope that Hisoka will return to him, like always.

Hisoka has always returned to him whenever he finds himself facing his past, and Homare has always known that Hisoka’s past might be _dangerous_ —as much as Homare would like to say that he figured it out on his own, all of Winter Troupe have in some way _known,_ from the look in Hisoka’s eyes, his mumbled words of his memories, or the scars. The scars, more than anything else. And Homare has never cared, has always continued to help Hisoka as much as possible.

This, alone, is what Homare can do for Hisoka, as a troupe mate, friend, and partner.

It reminds him of bags of marshmallows, left with Homare, when Hisoka left for something from his past—something Homare thought might be dangerous. Hisoka’s eye lingered on the way Homare clutched the thin plastic; it was a silent reminder that Hisoka was coming back for the marshmallows. A silent reminder that he wanted Homare to be waiting for him.

Homare reminds himself to breathe, because Hisoka has, all this time, trusted Homare. It’s amazing. Homare doesn’t feel like he deserves it.

He’ll stay by his side, no matter what happens. As long as Hisoka is willing to reach for him, Homare will stay and wait to be reached for.

Because—and this fact is the most important thing he knows at this moment—Homare loves Hisoka.

“Of course,” Homare replies, finally. “We’ll both try our best, Hisoka.”

Hisoka’s head shifts, falling once more against Homare’s shoulder, warmth pressing itself into Homare’s side, and into his heart as well. His fingers curl against his sleeve, pulling it back up over the scar. Concealed once more, Homare wonders if the memory won’t be as painful now that Hisoka’s not staring it in the face. He hopes so. He hopes that the present will be as gentle as Hisoka needs it to be.

“Are you tired, Hisoka?” Homare asks.

Hisoka hums. “...I’m always tired.”

“I suppose that’s true!” Homare laughs loudly, which causes Hisoka to look up with narrowed eyes. Homare grins down at him. “Now, shall we depart from this room and go back to our own?” Hisoka is quiet, so Homare keeps talking. “How about this; I’ll carry you there! I’m sure I have some marshmallows there. And in the privacy of our room I could read you poetry while you lie on my lap!”

Hisoka blinks up at him, his eye widening. “You’ll… carry me?”

“Of course. I want to get better at it, after all,” Homare says gently. “I was—well,” he trips over his own tongue; shameful for a poet who prides himself on his words, “I actually came looking for you in order to say that.”

“I don’t mind you carrying me,” Hisoka says slowly, “but why do you need to get better at it? You’re fine at carrying me already. I can just fall asleep…” And, completely expectedly, his eyes close.

Homare isn’t sure if he’s _already_ asleep, or if he’s simply feigning it, but he keeps talking regardless.

“I expected you of all people to understand, Hisoka,” Homare tells him, petting his head gently. “Isn’t it more comfortable to sleep in the arms of your lover than simply being carried like any other object? I’m sure that carrying you bridal style would be better.”

“It’s… fine…” Hisoka’s breathing is already getting sleepier and sleepier, but Homare takes the fact that he responded at all as a good sign.

“Hm, then I suppose I’ll have to prove you wrong,” Homare says, hands moving to encircle Hisoka’s shoulders. “After all, if you can carry _me_ —and don’t try to deny that, I know that you’re quite strong, Hisoka—then surely I should be able to return the favor, yes? And then you’ll understand my feelings.” If Hisoka _doesn’t_ understand after this, then Homare will just have to try again.

“...Just because I can carry you doesn’t mean I want to,” Hisoka mumbles.

Of course, Hisoka is probably stronger than Homare is, and so wouldn’t have the same amount of trouble Homare has. Still, there must be some way to carry Hisoka that isn’t lugging him around, as much as Homare doubts that Hisoka minds it.

Homare extracts himself from Hisoka’s side, and tries some odd shuffling to position his hands under Hisoka’s legs. Hisoka’s eye opens, and Homare is briefly offended that Hisoka is just watching him struggle to get into a place where it’s comfortable to pick him up instead of _helping_ him.

“Please help me,” Homare says, eyebrows furrowing. “Just… lift your legs.”

Hisoka huffs out a laugh, but complies.

One hand against the back of Hisoka’s legs, the other curled around his back and shoulders, Homare lifts him up. Hisoka is almost heavier than Homare was expecting, regardless of the fact that all of Winter Troupe has at least a small amount of experience carrying Hisoka. That means that Homare, too, should be used to this weight, but alas, Homare is more accustomed to Hisoka’s mental burdens than his physical ones.

“Ah,” Homare says, beaming at Hisoka. “It worked!”

“Of course it did. Shh…” Hisoka doesn’t rest his head against the side of Homare’s shoulder and instantly fall asleep as Homare had expected. Instead, Homare finds himself locked in what he can only assume to be a staring contest with his partner.

It’s broken as Hisoka reaches up, hands cupping Homare’s face, and Homare stops, blinking at him as his head is turned to a better angle. Hisoka is smiling, a gentle expression, and his hair tickles Homare’s face as he leans in for a soft kiss. His hands are warm against Homare’s cheeks.

If Hisoka hadn’t leaned in so slowly, Homare would’ve dropped Hisoka in surprise.

“Maybe you’re right...” Hisoka murmurs as he pulls away. “Being carried like this is better after all.”

Homare’s face feels warm.

“Hisoka,” Homare says, keeping his head turned to the side where Hisoka’s hand still brushes his cheek. He can feel Hisoka’s breath on his face. “You need to hold onto me or I’ll drop you, you know.” He smiles, though, as Hisoka reaches around his shoulder and grabs onto him once more.

“Fine,” Hisoka says. “...Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Hisoka,” Homare echoes, readjusting his grip and making sure that Hisoka’s weight is distributed well enough. He watches Hisoka’s eye flutter shut, and can’t stop himself from smiling fondly as he begins his trek to their room.

The stairs are somewhat difficult to get up with the added weight, but he manages without waking Hisoka—not that Hisoka would wake up with anything less than dropping him. Homare shoots a smile at Azuma, exiting his own room.

Azuma laughs into his hand at the sight of them, stopping outside his closed door. “You look like you’re having fun,” he comments.

“Indeed!” Homare grins, and if he wasn’t carrying his partner he would’ve clapped his hands. “Hisoka himself helped me carry himself like this. Who knew that all I needed was his cooperation for this to work out. As it is, I’m taking him back to our room, so—”

“Quiet,” Hisoka says, his eyes still closed. “You’re so noisy, Arisu.”

Azuma laughs again as he turns to go down the stairs that Homare had just climbed. “Carry on, then.”

Homare finds himself smiling in the wake of the passing interaction, even with the reminder that to Hisoka, he’s always been a rather noisy pillow. If anything, Homare takes a sense of pride in being like that; unabashedly himself, as he should be, but also with the fact that Hisoka likes him no matter how much he accidentally laughs in Hisoka’s ears, or recites poetry and wakes his Sleeping Beau.

When the door shuts behind him, Homare almost speaks it out loud—that he’s happy and in love, and he’s happy being noisy, too. But Hisoka talks first, and Homare’s thoughts get discarded, at least for the moment.

“Thank you, Arisu.” Homare finds Hisoka looking at him with gentle eyes.

“For what? For carrying you? It was no trouble at all, really. In fact, I quite enjoyed it!”

Hisoka’s hand tightens on his shoulder. “No. For… Trying to understand. You don’t ask questions, but you still looked so serious when you saw the scar; like you were trying with everything you are to figure it out. It was different from usual. Thank you.”

Homare feels a lump in his throat. Hisoka has seen through him in a way Homare could never do to him, but he still recognizes everything Homare wants.

Homare wants to try for Hisoka. He wants to understand without the loupe, even if Hisoka won’t say anything. And though that may be impossible with how Homare is, he still finds himself smiling shyly at how Hisoka said he looked _serious,_ when all he was doing was attempting to meet him halfway.

Homare closes his eyes. “Did I succeed in putting myself in your shoes, then?”

“Maybe not,” Hisoka hums. “But that’s okay too. All you need to do is listen, alright, Arisu?” Hisoka pulls his hand away from Homare’s shoulder, and Homare feels him slipping; before he can reorient him, Hisoka touches the side of Homare’s head, pressing their forehead together.

Homare wonders if Hisoka’s bad memories have washed away yet, opening his eyes and smiling at him, green meeting red.

But Hisoka can’t stay in Homare’s arms like this; Homare just isn’t built for carrying a person for so long. He breaks away from Hisoka, and the change is a little awkward, but it’s _them,_ so the shift doesn’t even matter. “I’m going to put you down, now!”

They have two chairs inside their room, one at each desk—Homare’s much more frequently used than Hisoka’s is—but there’s also a large chair on either side of their table that they can fit on for times like these, where climbing a ladder to one of the beds would be more inconvenient than it’s worth, and much less romantic, too. Though Homare does like to lie with Hisoka in bed, carrying him up the ladder seems an impossible feat.

Thus, he lowers him gently onto the chair.

Hisoka wastes no time in pulling his knees up onto the chair, and Homare sighs as he settles beside him, so close he can feel Hisoka breathing.

Homare would like it if he could feel like this for the rest of his life; this warmth, this care, and the way Hisoka shuffles slightly to the side to let Homare fit more into the chair. It’s still a tight fit, but Homare doesn’t mind. He likes to think that Hisoka doesn’t mind either, even as Homare turns so his legs hang off the side, his body slightly turned away from Hisoka.

“Hisoka,” Homare says, turning his head to see the top of Hisoka’s head as Hisoka falls against his back. “I love you. I’m happy to be here.”

There’s a beat of silence. Homare imagines, in that second, the smile on Hisoka’s face when Homare presents him with special marshmallows, or the rare moment when Homare wakes up after falling asleep with him, and Hisoka is smiling above him, somehow already awoken despite his nature. He thinks about bringing Hisoka to fancy dates, the ones Hisoka half-complains about.

He thinks of Hisoka, dodging a hug and telling him he doesn’t care much for Homare.

“...I love you too,” Hisoka breathes. Then, after a second: “Can I sleep on your lap?”

Homare considers the idea, with the thought that it would be a bit difficult to lie on his lap with the chair being, well, a _chair,_ rather than a couch. He imagines that Hisoka would have trouble, perhaps, though he’s sure that Hisoka would fall asleep even if his legs were falling off the chair. Homare finds the mental image amusing, but if he himself were in that position…

“What if I lie on your lap, instead? To see the world from your eyes?” Homare smiles, even as Hisoka sighs loudly.

“Sounds annoying…”

“I promise it won’t be!” Homare presses his back against Hisoka’s shoulder, leaning his weight onto him. He grins when Hisoka sighs again. “I’ll buy you another limited edition marshmallow pack—oh!” Hisoka’s hands pull gently at his shoulders, and Homare finds himself with his head against Hisoka’s chest, looking up at him.

“Are you being honest? It won’t be a value pack?” Hisoka’s visible eye is wide, blinking with excitement. Warmth builds up in Homare’s chest.

“Of course. The value packs are to save money, but you deserve to have special ones, too.”

Hisoka’s lap is warm. It feels like fluttering wings inside Homare’s chest, a giddiness building up inside of him as he stares up adoringly at Hisoka. Hisoka’s eyes are closed, but his breathing is normal, so Homare assumes he’s simply savoring the moment, tasting their sweet time together, and letting their present seep gently into his heart.

Homare allows this for a second, shuffling on Hisoka’s legs in an attempt to shift his own to a better spot. Hisoka’s eye opens once more.

Having accidentally disrupted Hisoka’s restful moment, Homare leans up, his hand finding its way to lightly touch the side of Hisoka’s neck. His fingers insert themselves into Hisoka’s hair as he moves upwards, pressing their lips together. Hisoka reciprocates the motion, smiling against Homare’s lips.

Homare pulls away, lowering himself down back onto Hisoka’s legs. He keeps his hand against Hisoka’s warm neck despite the slightly awkward angle.

“If you wanted to kiss me, you didn’t need to lie on my lap,” Hisoka says. His eyes are smiling. “Dumb Arisu…”

“Yes, well,” Homare shakes his head. “I thought it would be _romantic._ ”

“You’re always romantic,” Hisoka says, taking Homare’s long strand of hair between his fingers and tugging lightly. He frowns. “It’s not like you couldn’t be romantic in a bunch of other ways. This way, I can’t fall asleep on you…”

“Oh?” Homare tilts his chin upwards. “Do you enjoy my lap, Hisoka?”

“No. You’re too loud.”

Homare smiles anyway. Hisoka doesn’t mean it, Homare knows. Otherwise, why would he agree to be with Homare? Being close like they are requires true feelings, after all! How lucky Homare is to be with someone as sweet as Hisoka!

“Then let’s switch, and I’ll show you the warmth of my lap again—surely that’ll convince you!” Homare exclaims, moving his hands to lightly grasp Hisoka’s shoulders, using them as leverage to pull himself up into a sitting position again. “Of course, only if you wish to. I could always leave and get a poem from my desk—”

“No.” Hisoka shakes his head as Homare’s legs swing off of his. They sit next to each other, as they often do, without either in each other’s laps. Instead of falling once more into Homare, though, Hisoka moves close and presses a kiss onto Homare’s neck.

“Hisoka?” Homare asks.

A beat of silence. “Don’t go,” Hisoka says against Homare’s skin. His lips tickle Homare a little, but Homare bites back his startled laugh. “Arisu. Stay with me.” His voice is quiet, but it doesn’t fail to be resolute. Homare finds himself at a loss for why Hisoka is wishing him to stay by his side so desperately.

Homare swallows. “I will stay, of course, but may I ask…?”

“I’m still so tired...” Hisoka says, pulling away and wrapping his arms around Homare fully, sinking down until he’s pressed into Homare’s stomach rather than his chest. “My memories are coming back, and...” He trails off.

Homare lets himself feel, for a moment, how Hisoka warms his legs, curling up there like one of the cats that hang around the dorms. “I see. Then of course I’ll stay with you, love.”

“...Love?” Hisoka turns his head until his eye is exposed. “That’s a new one…”

“You must’ve been sleeping when I called you it before.”

Hisoka smiles. Something about it seems lighter than before, or maybe Homare is just feeling that in the wake of Hisoka’s vulnerability. Homare is just watching Hisoka’s brilliance, waiting for a moment to help him once more. Hisoka is lovely, no matter where they are. In a thousand different universes, Homare can’t imagine that there’s one where they know each other and Homare doesn’t want to love Hisoka with all his heart.

Homare’s heart may not be perfect, but Hisoka makes him feel like it could be. Maybe it’s perfect for Hisoka, in this moment. Maybe Hisoka’s sins have fallen into Homare’s palms, and they’re the only hands that can help him right now; other people will help him in the future, and other people had in the past, but right now, it’s just them two.

Homare hums lightly. “I’ll always be here, my dear,” Homare says, closing his eyes. “Even if you can’t tell me everything, I promise you can always return to me in the end.”

Hisoka presses closer to him, his arms tightening around his waist. When Homare looks down at him once more, he can’t see his face, just his pure white hair, which Homare runs his fingers through slowly, softly. Homare can feel emotions welling up inside him, the cause of perpetual poetic inspiration, but it would be a waste to leave Hisoka like this, even to write it down.

His heart softens. There’s nothing that could make Homare leave at this moment.


End file.
